496 AUDUBON 



ing aim, I raise my barrel ever so little, the trigger is 

 pressed ; down falls the Raccoon to the ground. Another 

 and another are on the same tree. Off goes a bullet, 

 then a second; and we secure the prey. "Let us go 

 home, stranger," says the woodsman; and contented with 

 our sport, towards his cabin we trudge. On arriving 

 there, we find a cheerful fire. Toby stays without, pre- 

 pares the game, stretches the skins on a frame of cane, 

 and washes the bodies. The table is already set; the 

 cake and the potatoes are all well done; four bowls of 

 buttermilk are ranged in order, and now the hunters 

 fall to. 



The Raccoon is a cunning animal, and makes a pleasant 

 pet. Monkey-like, it is quite dexterous in the use of its 

 fore-feet, and it will amble after its master, in the man- 

 ner of a Bear, and even follow him into the street. It is 

 fond of eggs, but prefers them raw, and it matters not 

 whether it be morning, noon, or night when it finds a 

 dozen in the pheasant's nest, or one placed in your pocket 

 to please him. He knows the habits of mussels better 

 than most conchologists. Being an expert climber he 

 ascends to the hole of the Woodpecker, and devours the 

 young birds. He knows, too, how to watch the soft- 

 shelled Turtle's crawl, and, better still, how to dig up her 

 eggs. Now, by the edge of the pond, grimalkin-like, 

 he lies seemingly asleep, until the Summer-Duck comes 

 within reach. No negro knows better when the corn is 

 juicy and pleasant to eat; and although Squirrels and 

 Woodpeckers know this too, the Raccoon is found in the 

 corn-field longer in the season than any of them, the havoc 

 he commits there amounting to a tithe. His fur is good 

 in winter, and many think his flesh good also; but for my 

 part, I prefer a live Raccoon to a dead one; and should 

 find more pleasure in hunting one than in eating him. 



